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The sudden, impetuous questions come from Leslie Goldthwaite. "I see what I see." "The whole?" said Leslie, more restrainedly. She remembered her respect for age and office. Yet she felt sorely tempted, shy, proud girl as she was, to take up cudgels for her friends, at least. Mr. Wharne liked her the better for that.
Linceford, counting up from thumb to little finger. "Dakie Thayne and Miss Craydocke, Marmaduke Wharne and these two, they just make it out," she continued, counting back again. "Whatever you do, Les, don't make up to Fox Lox at last, for all our sakes!" Out came Dakie Thayne, at this point, upon them, with his hands full. "Miss Leslie, could you head these needles for me with black wax?
"Will you do a galop with me presently? if you don't get a better partner, I mean," said Master Thayne. "That wouldn't be much of a promise," answered Leslie, smiling. "I will, at any rate; that is, if after I've spoken to Mrs. Linceford." Mr. Wharne came up and said something to young Thayne, just then; and the latter turned eagerly to Leslie.
Linceford, that "old Wharne would make any house intolerable; and that Jefferson, at any rate, was no place for more than a week's stay."
Her father and her mother gave; her girl friends gave; Miss Trixie Spring, Arabel Waite, Delia, little Arctura, the home-servants, gathered in the door-way, all gave; Miss Craydocke, crying, and disdaining her pocket-handkerchief till the tears trickled off her chin, because she was smiling also and would not cover that up, gave; and nobody gave with a more loving wrench out of a deep heart, than bluff old frowning Marmaduke Wharne.
There, I've remembered that word, at least!" Miss Craydocke was more than ever bewildered. "What is it, my dear? An experiment?" "No; an analogy. Something that's been in my head these three days. I can't make everything quite clear, Mr. Wharne, but I know it's there.
She put it in words, mentally, in the same off-hand fashion in which she would have spoken it to Cousin Delight. "One must look out for that, and keep at it. That's the eye-stone-woman's way; and it's what has kept me from worrying and despising myself to-night. It only happened so, this time; it was Mr. Wharne, not I. But I suppose one can always find something, by trying.
Wharne, why is it that things seem more sure and true as soon as we find out we can make an allegory to them?" "Because we do not make the allegory. It is there, as you have said. 'I will open my mouth in parables. I will utter things which have been kept secret from the foundation of the world. These things are that speech of God that was in the beginning.
He and Leslie and Cousin Delight, the Josselyns and the Inglesides, dear Miss Craydocke, hurrying up to congratulate, Marmaduke Wharne looking on without a shade of cynicism in the gladness of his face, and Sin Saxon and Frank Scherman flitting up in the pauses of dance and promenade, well, after all, these were the central group that night.
"Good-morning, madam. It is a good morning." "A little sharp, isn't it?" she said, shrugging her shoulders together, irresolute about further lingering. "Ah, Leslie? Let me introduce you to the Reverend Mr. Wharne. My young friend and traveling companion, Miss Leslie Goldthwaite, Mr. Wharne. Have you two driven everybody else off, or is it the nipping air?"
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